


Unraveling the Riddle

by electracait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Child Tom Riddle, Father-Son Relationship, I promise, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Politics, Raising Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle Senior is a father, Young Tom Riddle, accepting magic, chapters will get longer as the story progresses, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electracait/pseuds/electracait
Summary: It had been six years, six years since he managed to escape. Yet he could never shake the feeling that something was wrong, missing almost, he tried to bury those thoughts, drowning himself in his work, in his family, struggling to rebuilt his social circle. It had worked at first until today; it was the third of November of 1932 and the feeling was back and stronger than ever. Tom Riddle had a child and he could no longer ignore that fact.





	1. Shield Yourself Until You Can No Longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my fic, I hope you'll enjoy it! I started this mostly out of frustration that there aren't enough of these fics (please recommend me some!) and they really intrigue me because what would have happened had Tom Riddle Sr. raised his son?  
> I will try to update either every week or every two weeks but I am currently coursing University so I might get too busy sometimes and have to postpone the updates. That being said I am determined to finish this fic! 
> 
> Special thanks to my dearest friend for proofreading this!
> 
> Warning for this chapter: There are mentions of rape but nothing explicit at all. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been six years, six years since he managed to escape. He remembered waking up in a haze, not recognising his surroundings at first until the memories of the past months came rushing back. He had been drugged by that deranged girl; drugged, kidnaped and raped. He hadn’t known at first how much time had passed, but he knew that it had been more than a month. When she walked back into whatever cottage she had managed to find for them he nearly lost it. She went to kiss him and he reeled back with pure disgust, mingled with fear. He might have been afraid but Merope panicked. She started screaming, trying to force a glass of water, drugs he thought, down his throat, when she obviously failed to overpower him she started crying, throwing herself at his feet, begging for his forgiveness and mumbling something about a child and the months that had passed. Tom Riddle was deaf to her pleas, her tears, her apologies; he all but ran out the door cursing her existence. 

He remembered, he remembered turning back one last time and looking at her. She stared back, she was on her knees by the door, arms hugging her stomach protectively and she stared back, her eyes still haunted him to this day; fragmented, that’s how he would describe her eyes. He didn’t care, not in that moment, he couldn’t care, he just ran. As fast and as long as his legs could carry him Tom Riddle ran until he was able to hail a ride back to Little Hangleton, back to the safety of his home. 

It had been eight months, eight months he was gone according to his crying mother who held him for over an hour once he came back. His father was shocked, disgusted at first, not believing that his son had been drugged into that mess, Tom remembered that he agreed with his father; he felt pretty disgusted with himself as well. It had taken such a long time for Tom to feel like himself again, to feel free again, to trust again. Yet he could never shake the feeling that something was wrong, missing almost, he tried to bury those thoughts, drowning himself in his work, in his family, struggling to rebuilt his social circle; it had worked at first until today; it was the third of November of 1932 and the feeling was back and stronger than ever, Tom Riddle realised that he could no longer ignore it, the feeling was suffocating him. 

Every night he dreamed of Merope’s broken gaze, of her hold on her stomach, of her hysterics over the months and over a child. It didn’t take long for Tom to put two and two together but he was in denial, he refused to even think about it. He didn’t want this, he never wanted any of it but here he was, haunted and pursued by the dreams. Tom Riddle had a child and he could no longer ignore that fact. 

He was at a loss. He knew Merope never came back to Little Hangleton, he could deduce that she never reached out to her brother and father who had, unfortunately, remained here but he could not figure out where to start searching. He dreaded going back to his prison, that little cottage where he was tortured, he was beyond frightened of seeing Merope again but he knew that he could not leave his child, especially not with that unhinged woman, the child was not to blame for this incredibly messed up situation; Tom swallowed back his fear and left for the village that Merope had chosen for her imperfect fairytale. 

Merope was gone, she had left for London a few weeks after he had left according to the neighbour who looked at Tom with disgust. He understood, of course, to them Tom was nothing more than a deadbeat husband who abandoned his pregnant wife. ‘If only she knew’ thought Tom ‘the atrocity that happened in front of her’ he didn’t say any of that; he mumbled his thanks after she scribbled out that address of the orphanage she had given Merope and headed back to make his way to London. 

He was too afraid. A child, Tom Riddle had a child; he had always wanted a family but not like this, never like this. It took him a few more weeks to find the orphanage and once he found it he headed back to Little Hangleton. He felt defeated, all of a sudden it was too real, too near and he wasn’t ready. His parents didn’t even know, there was no room prepared for a child…he wasn’t prepared for a child. He feared that he would see Merope in his offspring, she had left a mark in him, one that he could not wash off no matter how long and hard he scrubbed whilst he showered and he did not know what he would do if she came to haunt him once more through his child. 

He had to tell his parents, he decided. They need to know about this, he could not just show up with a six year old out of the blue. His mother had been so kind, she soothed his fears, promised to be by his side through this ordeal, reminded him that even though the child came from Merope, they still had Riddle in their blood. His father, on the other hand, had exited the room with a disapproving face, he did not approve but he would not oppose; it was more than what Tom had expected. He no longer had an excuse, not from his point of view. He left for London once more. It was December 30th of 1932.


	2. Take the Child, Bless His Life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes another short chapter but the next one is much longer I promise!  
> Special thanks to my dear friend once more  
> Enjoy!

Wool’s Orphanage looked awful, it was a tall yet bleak building, dark unwashed bricks, cold and dirty windows and a rusted gate that Tom didn’t want to go near to without three pairs of gloves. He pushed back his disgust and headed inside to be greeted by filthy, bare walls; how was this a living place for children? “Can I help you?” a nasal voice broke Tom out of his thoughts, he looked down to see that the voice belonged to a small, tired looking woman who was staring up at him with a glimmer of hope on her face, of course, to her he was someone who could take a burden — a child — out of her hands. “My deepest apologies for bothering you this late, but I was lead to believe that you helped a woman called Merope give birth six years ago…” There was a flash of recognition in the woman’s face, Tom’s voice trailed off, his throat had closed up, this was too real again. 

Mrs. Cole, he learned was her name, was more than happy to lead him to office whilst telling him about Merope, a circus worker she had said, very frail, very desperate, she had delivered a healthy baby boy on December 31st of 1926, however, and had time to name him too before… and Mrs. Cole offered her deepest condolences unbeknownst to her, Tom had felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He had tried to follow along to Mrs Cole’s monologue, it was too much at once but somehow he managed to ask about the child’s name. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, that’s the name she chose…she wanted her baby to be named after the father, which I assume is you..it’s just he looks so much like you!” Mrs. Cole had rushed out the last part when she noticed that Mr. Riddle’s eyes had widened almost comically at the name. 

In all of her years working at Wool’s Orphanage Mrs. Cole had never wanted to get rid of child as much as she did with Tom Marvolo Riddle. She felt guilty and she was certain that the child knew of her feelings but he was too bizarre. He intimidated the other children, including the older ones, weird things always happened around him, he had this strange aura and always seemed to know what she was thinking. In short, the child unsettled her and everyone else who came into the orphanage so when a Tom Riddle Sr. walked into her orphanage asking about Tom Riddle Jr. she was more than happy to talk to him, even if he arrived at eleven o’clock at night.

He looked exactly like the child, older of course but nevertheless, identical. He looked more frazzled, less composed than how Tom Riddle Jr. always carried himself, but biological parents never looked confident when coming for their children at an orphanage. She didn’t ask questions and had the paperwork ready in record time, whilst Tom Riddle Sr. wanted to take his time, Mrs. Cole did not and if she was good at anything it was at getting her way, she did work with children after all. 

She led Mr. Riddle to Tom’s room, knocking gently before entering in the room of Tom Riddle Jr. who stared up at them from his bed, a small glare on his eyes from being awoken. “Tom, I have some very big news!” She didn’t even have to fake her excitement “This man here is your father! He just adopted you! You’re going home!” It was funny, she thought to herself, Tom Jr. eyes widened just like his father’s had in her office. 

Tom Riddle Sr. could not believe his eyes, it felt as if he was staring at himself, a younger, skinnier version of himself but still him; the only difference was the eyes, his kid had Merope’s eyes, he was relieved, however, to see that the resemblance only went as far as eye colour, the same greyish blue; however, where Merope’s eyes looked glazed and crazed over Tom Jr.’s eyes were sharp, attentive and seemed full of knowledge. The child had stayed rooted in place, mouth slightly ajar and if Tom Sr. looked closely enough he could see the doubt mixed with hope in his son’s eyes. That’s when he knew he had to take him home, he refused to be the one to break that hope in such young eyes. 

Tom Sr. glanced at his watch, noting it was midnight, before sitting down on the edge of his son’s bed. “Happy Birthday, Tom, are you ready to go home?”. It was December 31st of 1932 when Tom Riddle Sr. finally met his son.


	3. Crush My Mind but Not My Heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is the last chapter I had preprepared, I already started working on chapter 4 and it will be up either on Sunday or Tuesday!   
> Thanks to my dearest friend for proofreading!   
> Enjoy!

He had helped his son pack, albeit there was not much to pack, his clothes and a book, into a small worn down suitcase. Once they were done Tom Sr. turned towards Mrs. Cole, thanking her for her time, he then glanced down to see his son struggling to stay awake, half dragging, half carrying his suitcase out the door; he picked him up, ignoring the half-hearted protests that came from the six year old. He headed out with his son towards his car, settling in the back; “Take us home, Ivan.” His chauffeur gave a nod and started the car as Tom Sr looked down at his son once more, the kid was deep asleep, he looked so peaceful. Not wanting to disturb his dream and in a more subconscious thought, not wanting to let go of his son, Tom Sr. held him tighter in his arms rather than settling him on the seat next to him. 

They arrived back to the Riddle manor in the early morning. He hadn’t slept, Tom Jr., on the other hand, hadn’t woken up so Tom Sr. headed out the car with his child still in his arms; he was greeted by his mother’s small gasp and kind eyes, she ushered him inside and towards the bedroom she had prepared for her grandson. It was beautifully decorated, she was definitely excited over this, Tom Sr. noted; the room had been dusted, the fireplace was lit and the furniture had been changed; instead of the old dusty bed and the splintering desk there now was a brand new twin bed and a small child-size appropriate desk and chair, Tom Sr. old toy box stood in the corner of the room stuffed to the brim with new toys, a small bookshelf stood near the desk accompanied by a small cushioned chair. The colours of the room had also been changed, instead of the dull shades of watered down brown and beige his mother had changed it to royal blue and silver patterns. It was not the first time and certainly not the last that Tom Sr. was truly amazed with what his mother could do with just a few days. 

He blinked in surprise when his son was plucked from his arms and watched, almost in a daze, how his mother tucked the small child in the bed. “I have a son, mother.” He finally whispered the words as if the reality of the situation was only hitting him now; “I know, dear, he’s identical to you, Tom.” She smiled, guiding her son out of the room and into his, “You should rest, we have a long day waiting for us and even longer years to come.” 

He felt a tap on his forehead, followed by another, a more persistent one; Tom Sr. scrunched up his face only to be tapped several times in a row until he finally cracked one eye open. Piercing grey-blue eyes stared back at him, they look demanding but they had an underlining tone of worry if he focused enough on the glare. “Mrs. Cole said you were my father.” His voice sounded tough until the end where it wobbled slightly, Tom Sr. sat up in his bed and scooted over, patting the bed to invite his son up, Tom Jr. stayed firmly on the ground. “I am…I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, Tom, I wasn’t sure you were real.” The child scrunched up his nose in a disapproving manner but remained quiet otherwise, “Would you like some breakfast? I’m sure it’s ready by now.” Tom Sr. was answered with a nod. 

He was a quiet child, Tom Sr. noted, he had guided his son down to the dining room, it was later than usual meaning his parents were off attending their affairs, leaving Tom Sr. and Tom Jr. to themselves. The entire meal had been quiet, his son had only mumbled a small thanks when handed his plate and Tom Sr.’s mind drew blanks, how was he supposed to raise his son if he didn’t even know how to talk to him? “Were going into town today, you need new clothes.” It came out harsher than what he intended but he had been staring at Tom’s washed out, worn down, dull clothes during the meal and could no longer stand the thought of anyone, especially his son, wearing such depressive clothing, he was answered by a noise of surprise, as if the thought of buying new clothes was something out of this world, which, to an orphan boy, he supposed it was. “Come on then, let’s go.” He ushered his son out the house and towards the car, greeting Ivan as he opened the door to the backseat, letting Tom Jr. head in first before settling in himself and shutting the door; “To town, Ivan, please.” 

His son was glued to the window watching the trees pass by as they drove down towards the town, he looked so innocent and small with his face full of wonder towards the open plains that Little Hangleton offered, Tom Sr. noted with a fond look. He seemed so normal as well, Tom Sr. thought with relieve, he wasn't crazed like his mother or completely and utterly unhinged like his uncle, nailing snakes to his door and waving a stick around and towards people; Tom Sr. felt immensely relieved that his child seemed to not only have inherited his looks from the Riddle side of the family but also his mundanity and sanity, in that moment he vowed to himself that his child would never go near the poison that the Gaunt family was. 

Their trip to town had been tranquil but unsettling, Tom Jr. had gotten a whole new and full wardrobe, much to his son’s astonishment but whispers had followed them throughout the shops. The rumours that had finally died down about Tom Sr.’s escapade with Merope Gaunt had come back with vigor, he had excepted this of course; Tom Jr. however, seemed overwhelmed with the following stares and strained whispers. The longer they stayed the more unnerved his son seemed to get, by the time they headed out of town his son seemed incredibly stressed out, the lightbulbs shattering in the last store they had been in had most likely not helped improve his son’s mood, Tom Sr. thought. 

“May I explore the gardens?” Tom Sr. took a few minutes to reply, surprised that his son had spoken at all, the trip in town had been passed in silence, after all, with the exception of Tom Jr. agreeing or disagreeing to the clothes he was shown. “Yes, of course, but stay in the gardens, I don’t want you to get lost.” He didn’t manage to get another word out, his son had already jumped off the car and headed towards the grass, with an amused shake of his head, Tom Sr. headed inside to accommodate his son’s clothing. 

It had been over an hour and lunch was to be served soon, Tom Jr. however, was still outside doing God knows what. Tom Sr. headed out to look for his son and bring him back inside to wash up before lunch, wondering what had absorbed his son’s attention. He wondered around the garden for a while until he finally spotted the child who was crouched down underneath a tree seemingly enthralled with something; Tom Sr. approached him to see what it was until he wished he hadn’t. 

Tom Jr. glanced up when he felt a shadow being cast over him only to see his father standing behind him a look of utter fear adorning his face. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could and squared his shoulders willing his voice to come out firmly, “I’m not a freak!” Tom Sr. heard his son’s shout but was unable to respond; he had just witnessed his son whisper out a full conversion to a snake who seemingly was answering him back.


	4. A Promise is a Promise, Even if Silent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry!! I know I said either Sunday or Tuesday and like two weeks have gone by and I suck, but I got loaded with work! I think I'm going to change my updates to every two weeks just to give me more time. 
> 
> I'm trying to make my chapters longer but I think they'll only be truly long when Tom Jr. gets to Hogwarts because that's where all my plans start to unravel. 
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's un-betaed so if you spot any errors please let me know!

His father was silent, he only stared at Tom wide-eyed, mouth set in a hard line. He knew what was coming but he wasn’t going back to Wool’s orphanage, not today, he’d rather die. Tom turned tail and ran opposite of his father, was he really such a disgrace? Such an atrocity? Not even his own blood could accept him. He heard footsteps running after him, prompting him to run faster, tears welling up in his eyes. His father wasn’t going to abandon him, not if he abandoned the man first. “Thomas!” strong hands grabbed his shirt, halting him and hauling him back, for as much as he had wished, Tom Jr. was no match for his father, not yet at least, the man had caught up to him. 

He was picked up in a strong hold but Tom wasn’t know for giving up, he scratched, kicked, hit and bit whatever he could reach, trying, in vain, to make him let go. Tom Sr. ignored his tries, he held his son to his chest until he calmed down, all he could think about were the tears running down his son’s face, the desperate shout the kid had given and the broken hope that laid within his eyes, the same hope he had promised himself he would never break. He knew he had two choices, take the snake-talking kid back to the orphanage or stay by his son’s side and learn to love him as he is. Tom Sr. chose the latter. 

He held his son for fifteen minutes until he finally tired out, Tom Sr. was just he bore a few nasty scratches on his face alone and he could feel his wrist aching from a rather nasty bite his son had given him, his face and arms ached but that didn't seem to matter, not now at least, his mother could fuss over it later. Tom Jr. had been deathly quiet, carefully, he set him back down but kept a strong grip on the kid's sweater in case he tried to make another run for it. 

"That is the first and last time you hit me." Tom Jr. turned around to glare at him; "Why does it matter? You're sending me back!" Tom Sr. raised his eyebrows a fraction, so that's what this was all about. Guilt rose up in him, that had been his first thought, it was so easy after all, to send him back and never look back; but as the saying goes: the easy choice might not necessarily be the right one. 

He kneeled down to his son's level ignoring the daggers that were being sent his way and placed his hands atop Tom Jr’s shoulders. “I won’t pretend I’m thrilled about this but Tom you’re my child, even through difficult times, it’s not just something that can be erased…we’re stuck with each other.” His son seemed to still at the words, thinking them over, almost as if he was trying to analyse their authenticity, he finally gave a nod and glanced away, “I’m a freak though, aren’t I?” the voice was barely a whisper but the tone of it was raw, vulnerable and Tom Sr. couldn’t stand it, his guilt grew. “You aren’t a freak, you’re unique and that’s not necessarily a bad thing…it’s what you do with that uniqueness that will decide whether you’re good or not.” He didn’t know where such words had come from but he knew that he believed them the second they came out of his mouth, Tom Jr. seemed to be thinking them over, some sort of ease fleeting across his features. 

His father wasn’t going to give him away, he wasn’t immediately classified as a spawn of Satan, a freak, a danger. This man he had just met was giving him a chance, an opportunity to be himself, this was more than what anybody else had ever done for him. Tentatively Tom Jr. glanced up at him, “I understand, thank you.” His father nodded before standing back up and placing a hand on his son’s shoulder to guide him back towards the house and for once, Tom Marvolo Riddle did not shake a helping hand away.

Dinner had been…uneasy, his parents had finally met his son. His father seemed reserved, asking simple questions about Tom Jr’s education, he had seemed to soften as he noticed the boy’s superior intellect, his mother had fussed right away, trying to spoil the child with anything possible. Tom Jr, meanwhile had been polite but unnerved, he kept edging away from his grandmother and overanalysing his grandfather’s reactions to his answers. Tom Sr. got the impression that his son seemed torn between hiding behind him and standing his ground against his grandparents, at the end choosing a middle ground by allowing the conversation to flow between them but retiring to an early bedtime.

Tom Sr. stood by the door of his son’s room watching his sleeping form and knowing that he was in too deep. For as much as he was afraid, as much as he was horrified over what he had noticed, despite the fact that his son was now undeniably a Gaunt, Tom Sr. could feel his love blossoming for his son. This child came from him, this child was his own blood and most importantly, this child needed him, desperately. Who knows what would have happened to his son if he hadn’t arrived. Perhaps he would end up dying later on…or perhaps he would grow to be like his uncle: a crazy demented sociopath. 

Whatever his son’s outcome would have been without him, Tom Sr. swore that he would never let any harm fall upon his son and most importantly, he also swore he would never let his son become the hate-driven man that his uncle was. So much hate and fear did not belong in such a small body.


	5. As He Grows, You Learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck, I know, just had a natural disaster in my country and then catching up at Uni so... I'm no longer going to say when I'll publish the next chapter but I do promise that I will finish this fic, I time-skipped a bit in order to pressure me and because my longer chapters are when Tom is at Hogwarts.

After a few days they finally started to settle, Tom Jr. slowly began to tolerate his grandmother’s overbearing nature, no longer looking for an escape overtime she opened her mouth, the relationship with his father, however, was weirder, his father had enrolled his son in the private school downtown and they talked about that but other than that they mostly left each other alone. Tom Jr. seemed to feel somewhat uncomfortable around his grandfather and his father seemed to still be uncomfortable with Tom Jr.’s full heritage, the two of them seemed to only be able to talk about science or history together, thankfully that seemed to be more than enough for the both of them. 

If Tom Sr. had been asked if he had been ready to be a father before he would have said that he most likely was; now he wasn’t so sure, he loved his son and he would never ask for a different child, nonetheless, he wasn’t an easy child. Rare incidents seemed to always occur around Tom Jr., over time Tom Sr. had come to learn that the ‘rare’ was magic and the ‘incidents’ sometimes weren’t truly an accident; his child wasn’t social or patient or kind and more than not Tom Sr. felt overwhelmed, he didn’t know how to handle most of the situations that Tom Jr. got himself into and his parents were no help. His mother insisted on using a kind hand and more cuddles whilst his father insisted on remaining out of the situations. 

The school often called to complain, at first that Tom Jr. wasn’t very social, then that he scared off the children who dared approach him, it started mild, with glares or harsh words but then there were the ‘incidents’ the children’s backpacks who dare cross him ended up ripped open, their inkwells exploded, their chairs seemed to mysteriously pull away when they were about to sit, the list of incidents seemed to be endless and whilst there was no solid proof that Tom Jr. had done it he seemed to be the ‘common denominator’ as his teachers put it. He didn’t know how to discipline Tom Jr. over the calls, technically his son was innocent, there was no concrete proof that he had done it and his son made sure to point that out whenever he tried to scold him over it.

His son was incredible smart, too smart sometimes, it was a good trait and he knew it but sometimes he found it despairing, he felt like he was failing as a father and that his son took notice; his mother always took notice of those moments and never failed to reassure him. Tom Jr. seemed to have the strongest bond with him after all, his mother was quick to recall all the ‘big steps’ as she liked to call them, that Tom Jr. had taken. For instance the first time Tom Jr. had cried, he had fallen down the stairs, grazing his knees over the carpet, the poor boy had been in tears burying his face against his father’s shoulder, much to his surprise, and refused to let go until he had been parched up; or the first time he had called him father, Tom Jr. was falling asleep and he had carried him up to his bed, after tucking him in his son had mumbled a sleepy ‘thank you, father’ something Tom Sr. had not shut up about days after, much to his own father’s dismay. 

There were many instances that proved he was a good father but he always had the underlining fear that he would never be good enough, he still had certain fear, or prejudices if you will, over his son’s magic and to add to it he had no idea how to instruct him over the usage of it, all he knew about magic was harm and hurt, he did not want to transmit that to his son, to make him feel ashamed over what he is would be the worst failure possible, he almost did it once; Tom Sr. refused to hurt his son like that again. In order to do that, Tom Sr. did not approach the topic but his son’s magical outburst became more and more frequent and stronger as he aged up, leaving him helpless in the matter, he did not want to limit his son but deep down he knew that there must some boundaries, some ‘right way’ to use the powers he had. He refused to go over to the rotten cottage where his son’s uncle and grandfather lived for help, those people weren’t right and would definitely be a bad influence and as far as his son knew, those people did not exist. Tom Sr. vowed to himself that he would do anything for it to remain like that. 

The years had passed by quickly, far to quickly if you asked him. His son had adapted well, after several anual talks Tom Jr. had finally stopped scaring off every poor child that tried to be his friend, he now had…friendly acquaintances with whom he would talk to during school, his grades were stellar as ever, most importantly though, his son seemed to love him, perhaps love was a strong word but he was more than tolerated, he was certain of that. Tom Jr. trusted him, confided in him and accepted his corrections, which was more than what he did with everybody else. 

His son was a peculiar child, he never seemed to be interested in rolling around in the dirt like the other children, instead he preferred books, he never cared much for social interactions yet he was oddly charismatic when needed. He carried this air of power whenever he went and never once let anybody talk down to him. He was unique, there was no comparison, no other child even came close to his own, he was proud yet concerned, whilst he wanted his child to be unique and brilliant he also wanted to give him a normal and peaceful life. 

“Tom, dear, are you with us?” He snapped back to reality at the sound of his mother’s voice noticing how he had seemed to get lost in his thoughts. “Sorry, you have my full attention.” His mother gave a kind smile, moving to rearrange his tie. “Your son’s eleventh birthday is tomorrow, what should we do to celebrate?”


End file.
